Sweat, Skirts and Saucy Liaisons
by ladyhurt
Summary: Sometimes it takes a little push to get the ball rolling. Sometimes, it takes a little football. SeamusDean


**Title: **Sweat, Skirts and Saucy Liaisons

**Author: **prostheticballerina aka ladyhurt

**Pairing: **Seamus/Dean SLASH. This mean Yoai, or boy-on-boy action. I can't stress enough – if you don't enjoy that sort of thing, please don't bitch to me about it. You've had fair warning.

**Rating: **PG, for some boy loving. Nothing graphic.

**Summary:** Sometimes it takes a little push to get the ball rolling. Sometimes, it takes a little football. Seamus/Dean

**Notes: **Written for the Deamus soccer challenge! I changed the word soccer to 'football' since that's what it's called in Britain (but you all know that), and my writing generally takes more British-Canadian slant.

Also, I am NOT a Ron/Hermione fan – in fact, if I must choose, I am a Harry/Hermione fan (after Draco/Harry, of course). But somehow, Ron/Hermione snuck into this fic. It's barely there, promise. I apologize. Really.

Dean and Seamus play football …

* * *

If there was one thing that all Houses, whether it be Hufflepuff and Slytherin, or Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, could agree without a spot of bother nor the fling of vicious insults, was that on this June day, it was _hot._ This week between exams and the summer holidays was not exceedingly warm, or sun-kissed, or anything _but_ blistering, sadistically hot. Dean Thomas was lying next to his very best friend of six years, one Seamus Finnigan, sprawled on the almost cool grass, capable of doing nothing but drool and allowing the occasional grunt.

The shadow of the Whomping Willow loomed over them, imposing and dangerous, but even it appeared to have lost all will to maim and mangle in the heat. Dean wanted to be miserable, he needed to be sad and nostalgic, but he simply could not drum up the energy to do so. So instead he succumbed to watching Seamus out of the corner of his eyes. The boy simply laid there, an expression of utmost indifference on his face, one leg draped carelessly over Dean's, having fallen there when Seamus had collapsed, and never removed. Out of laziness and spite, Dean thought unconvincingly; he didn't really mind the unnecessary warmth it gave his own lower limbs. It was comfortable, and he reminded himself to cherish any form of contact they had, for in a week they would no longer see each other every single day; their easy friendship replaced by a strained pen pal system and the occasional sleepover. Dean pulled his gaze away and for several minutes watched a group of Slytherin cronies laze in the sun and drink nauseating amounts of juice. He watched Harry watch Malfoy, who glared back malevolently, and Ron watch Hermione, who was completely absorbed in the familiar large, dusty tome on her lap.

It was the sheer pathetic nature of the scene around him, which really pushed a button: his lethargic classmates couldn't even gather the energy to start a good row. At least then he could be entertained. In his younger years, before Hogwarts and wizards and puberty and other such complications, Dean used to spend the last days of Muggle school playing football with his mates in the backyard, and suddenly he missed it. Perhaps it was the heat getting to his mind, but Dean was impulsively struck with the desire to run down a field, block a goal, perhaps tackle another and be flung carelessly into the mud.

The sound of cleats hitting the ground woke something inside him, and in some inexplicable fit of adrenaline, Dean was on his feet, eager and excited, pulling Seamus up to join him. Seamus simply stared at him, wary and refusing, as if Dean had just sprouted a tail and was speaking the praise Hagrid's sexual abilities. It took scamming and flattery, and a promise of a large glass of frozen pumpkin juice for his troubles, but finally Dean managed to talk Seamus into one lousy game of football. They had to transfigure a rock into a ball (as Seamus refused to trek all the way up to the castle, asking instead why they couldn't just toss Ginny around - albeit too quietly for her to hear), and though it didn't have the memorable black and white diamonds, it would do. The others – Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville – took mild persuasion, and soon Dean was jumping from one foot to another, eager to begin the game. The halfhearted team split themselves up: it would be Ginny, Dean and Seamus against Harry, Ron and Hermione, and Neville as the score keeper and replacement – eager, Dean supposed, not to do any actual playing in the game. It had been a tug-of-war of sorts over Harry; he was the seeker and therefore assumed to be the best player of all of them, despite his avid denial of the fact. Ginny, though the least desired of the players, turned out to have quite the kick in her, and watching the fight between her and Hermione over the ball was an enjoyable sight for all.

Dean's team was losing miserably when he'd kicked the perfect shot into the mock goal (two rocks were the boundaries) and he'd rushed to the closest member of their team, who happened to be Ginny, and enveloped her in a massive hug. She'd squealed and clung on tightly, and they had both toppled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and giggles. He had pulled himself into a sitting position when he caught Seamus' eye, and found his best friend watching him with a very strange look indeed on his jaunty face. Seamus turned away abruptly, and when Dean approached he turned around, the look gone as quickly as it had emerged, and he was patting Dean on the back and grinning as brightly as the sun above.

Dean's team lost abysmally despite their attempts, and before the next game it was reluctantly decided the teams needed to be mixed. It was Hermione, Dean and Harry against Ginny, Ron and Seamus, and by this time Dean was utterly absorbed in both winning and figuring out what that strange look had meant.

He tackled Seamus twice that game. His team won by a thoroughly large amount of points, and Ron could be heard telling Seamus off for being completely distracted and missing every pass he'd been given. Seamus had denied it all, and blamed Ron right back (with a snide comment about Ginny being superior to him even with two legs broken) but his blush was much harder to hide. His face coloured, but still the unfamiliar look did not return. Instead, Seamus insisted on new teams yet again: Ginny, Hermione and Ron against Harry, Dean and Seamus. Ron had been indignant over his female counterparts, until Hermione had scolded him and Ginny had smacked him upside the head for being "a sexist pig." It turned out the two girls worked incredibly well together, their passing perfectly in sync. It was Ron who simply couldn't compete with Harry's innovative strategies and Seamus' perfectly aimed kicks. Dean protected the net using his entire body, flinging himself this way and that, his enthusiastic contagious and inspiring. By the end, all were sweating profusely covered in mud, except Neville, who had stayed on the sidelines true to his word, cheering loudly and shouting out useless but well-meaning commentary to whichever side was losing. The winning goal had Harry and Seamus hugging wildly, and Dean jumping on top in a pile reminiscent of American football. Ginny and Hermione were laughing wildly and Ron attempted to scowl, but couldn't bother, and threw Hermione over his shoulder amicably, causing the giggles to increase tenfold.

They made their way up to the castle slowly, Ron twirling round and round in an attempt to disorient his baggage, Ginny walking a ways behind with Neville, who thought she looked very pretty covered in mud, thank you very much. In the forefront the three-manned bundle of boy parts stumbled along, dirt-covered and grinning uncontrollably. The Slytherins glared as they passed and Malfoy caught Harry's eye, who stumbled suddenly and had to endue the teasing of his mates over his two left feet. The Ravenclaws tutted superiorly and the Hufflepuffs smiled enviously. Dean's arm was slung round Seamus' shoulders, and Seamus' fell down to Dean and Harry's wastes. They made it to the front hall without trouble, where they were stopped by Filch's shouting and accusations of soiling the castle, but nothing could be done as the holidays were just around the corner and the idea of giving detentions was futile.

The three boys raced to the dormitories, still full of adrenaline and exhilaration from their games. Dean found the wistful, poignant sensation he'd thought lost returning as he joined Harry in pulling off his clothes to take a shower and wash the grime off his skin. Harry bounded with unrelenting energy to the showers, and Dean was happy for his elevated mood – too often the Boy Who Lived could be found brooding over some nasty, life-threatening issue or another, never allowed to live the regular, teenage boy life. Dean sat down on his bed heavily, not really seeing the West Ham football poster his eyes rested on. Suddenly caught in a thought, he turned abruptly to Seamus, who was the only one left in the room (he long suspected Hermione and Ron had found a dark closet somewhere) and was struck silent by the sight. Seamus had removed his shirt and was unbuttoning his jeans while toeing off his trainers at the same time.

There was no angelic atmosphere to light up his skin and make it glow, no music playing inconspicuously in the background, or even the clichéd slow-motion action. It was just Seamus, hopping slightly as he fumbled with his shoes, yanking his pants over slim hips and revealing bright red Gryffindor underwear, lion insignia and all. But somehow that floppy, uncut sandy hair, those bright eyes and very, very nice biceps seemed to catch Dean unnaturally off guard.

Unfortunately, Seamus caught his gaze.

"What, what are you looking at me like that for?"

Not accusatory, but curious, quiet. His head inclined slightly, as if accessing the situation from another angle. Dean shook his head,

"Sorry, it's nothing. I guess…I'm just getting pretty nostalgic, is all."

He tried to smile, feeling decidedly stupid for being so girly. "It's silly, never mind." He was sure he was blushing, but Seamus didn't seem to think him overtly feminine, rather, he adopted a sympathetic expression and marched over to Dean, tossing himself onto the bed.

"S'nothing to feel stupid about, you prat," he said affectionately. "I always miss this place something awful when I'm back at home."

Dean nodded, distracted, no doubt from the fact that Seamus pressing up against him, and neither had on a shirt – and in Seamus' case, lacking pants as well. Seamus slung an arm across Dean's back warmly, and rested his head on the other boy's shoulder. Dean, after only a moment's hesitation, mirrored him, and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Dean enjoyed the feeling of the golden hair tickling his collarbone and sticking in his ear, and the soft sounds of Seamus' breathing with a definite sadness in his heart. He looked down at their legs, Seamus' skin a sharp contrast to Dean's. He couldn't help but find it pretty, the difference in tones, the bits of mud and grass; all the imperfections and awkwardness molding a perfect picture of boyhood and innocence and fun.

"Do you like Ginny?" The comment was abrupt, spat out as if winning a battle against the mouth it had escaped from. Seamus buried his face even further into Dean's neck, and it was so oddly pleasant that Dean forgot to answer for a moment, and only did after receiving a light jab from a bony elbow.

"Well, sure, course I do. Great kick, that girl's got." He said with a smile, but was disappointed when he heard a loud, huffy sigh from his companion.

"_No_," he said touchily, "I mean, do you _like_ Ginny. As in, would you consider having a _romantic liaison_ with the girl?"

There was a definite bitter tone to Seamus' voice, and since when did he use the term 'liaison'? He sounded like a cross between Percy Weasley and Hermione. It was a notion far too analytical for Seamus, and it sent off alarm bells in Dean's head. He had an odd feeling he needed to answer very carefully.

"Never really thought about it, to tell you the truth. She's sweet, and clever, and funny. Plus I truly think she enjoyed the football game today: most eager of the bunch, I'd say."

Dean was thinking aloud, pondering the question with more seriousness than originally planned. Seamus tensed, removing his head from Dean's shoulder, and jumping up.

"Oh, I see. So you think _she's_ the only one who enjoyed it, hmm?

Yes, I suppose you would think that, as you spent the whole game practically clinging to her. It was nauseating, you know."

Now, Dean thought this was taking it a bit far, and he stood as well, confused and hurt at Seamus' anger.

"What's your problem, Shay?" He asked quietly, and his tone seemed to enrage the Irish boy even more.

"Problem? My _problem_ is that all you do is fawn over your _girlfriend._ How _pretty_ she is, how _clever_, how flipping _marvelous_ she is, and I am sick of it." Seamus snarled, and Dean thought it quite silly of him, as it had been Seamus who had asked about it in the first place. Dean told him so, and it only infuriated the Irish boy even further. They were in the middle of a pointless shouting match when Harry emerged, took one look at them, quirked an eyebrow knowingly and left, taking some clothes with him. The argument had disintegrated quickly as Seamus had run out of steam and was standing in the center of the room, hands hanging limply, looking lost and perhaps a little afraid. Dean wanted to take him in his arms in a tight hug, but was scared to move. Seamus looked horribly unapproachable at that moment, as if he was miles away and not mere feet. All Dean knew was that he didn't want to leave on this note, with his best friend, his confidant and anchor to the wizarding world, hating him for no good reason.

"What's wrong, Seamus? What is this really about?" Dean asked sadly, and Seamus only looked more dejected, shame visibly covering his face until he looked down at the floor, slumping slightly, as if giving up.

"I don't know." He seemed to change his mind, "I don't want some girl to come between us."

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Shay, no girl could ever come between us. Ginny, sure, she's nice," Dean ignored how Seamus scowled and looked away. "But I don't have any romantic interest in her." Or any other girl, Dean said silently to himself. He didn't think this was the appropriate time to admit that particular desire, however. Another argument for another time, he decided.

Seamus' expression softened visibly, and another thought struck Dean suddenly.

"Hold on, I think I know what this is about." Seamus' head shot up, his eyes wide.

"_You_ like Ginny. You're jealous, aren't you?" Dean pointed at Seamus accusingly, suddenly angry and inexplicably disappointed. Seamus, however, snorted.

"Hardly, Deano, my man. Ginny's cute, but completely not my type." Dean found himself wondering what Seamus' type _was_, when he fully realized what Seamus had said. And once again, he was confused.

"Then why were you so upset? Surely you didn't think I'd ditch you for some skirt after six years?" Dean pouted a little, and Seamus smiled, embarrassed.

"Nah, I knew that, I guess." He shook his head. "Sorry mate, really. Shouldn't have freaked out like that. Must be the heat." He turned away and approached the window, leaning forward and squinting into the sun, which was setting low on the horizon. The red of the sunset was highlighting his skin eerily, and he looked older, sadder, somehow. There was a strong set to his shoulders, broad and mature, such a change from their playful youth. Dean walked over, watching the play of light across his skin, and, inexplicably, reached out to touch his hair. His fingers just skimmed the golden strands, and the sharp intake of breath shook him out of his daze. Quickly, he made to drop his hand, but too late – Seamus whipped around, face puzzled, and grabbed his hand with the speed of a seeker. He stared at the hands, grasped together, before his eyes slowly burnt a trail up to Dean's face. And Dean watched that peculiar expression bloom once more on Seamus' face, but quite suddenly he understand completely, because he knew without a doubt the same was burning on his own face. Seamus' gaze was so deep it seemed to force Dean to keep their eyes locked by sheer intensity. Boldly lowered their hands back to his neck, Seamus rested Dean's there, where his fingers clenched around Shay's hair and grazed his soft skin.

Seamus' eyes fluttered shut, and unable to hesitate another moment, Dean leaned in, lips hovering above Shay's, waiting for some signal that this was alright.

And then Seamus moved in, their lips met, and Dean knew the feeling of coming home.

* * *

Fin 


End file.
